


Welcome Home

by Ultirex



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Gift Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-26 23:33:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9929918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ultirex/pseuds/Ultirex
Summary: With just a few hours left until sunset, Drift and Rodimus have time for four final acts.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [neongoodies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/neongoodies/gifts).



> A belated birthday gift. Takes place during TDotL. I took some liberties with the timing of events.

With all the pandemonium that had occurred after the DJD’s initial onslaught - which was only exacerbated by the promise they’d left behind in the wake of their destruction - it was almost eerie how the inhabitants of the fortress were able to lapse into a sense of calm before the true storm. 

Perhaps they’d simply reached the acceptance stage of grief, Rodimus mused as he observed the surprisingly tranquil scene around him; though he’d never voice such pessimism aloud. He wouldn’t go so far as to called the atmosphere elated, yet in a way it was as if the burden of the upcoming battle had been temporarily alleviated. 

Chromedome and Rewind were quietly conversing with each other, surely about the events that had transpired shortly before. Chromedome’s arm was freshly repaired, and he had it wrapped tightly around Rewind, who snuggled up against his conjunx’s side. The two spoke in gentle murmurs, their helms resting against each other as they did so. 

Swerve was having a rather animated conversation with Skids, his previous anxiety temporarily set aside beneath that usual grin of his. There was practically a jubilant gleam in his visor as he spoke to his best friend with a genuine ease and happiness that Rodimus considered them all lucky to see after the close call that was Swearth. Nautica and Rung soon joined them, the former brimming with her usual energy but nonetheless appearing to have an extra spring in her step.

Ratchet and Velocity bustled around, scrounging together whatever supplies they could find stashed away in the fortress and from Ratchet’s shuttle and stocking up their makeshift medbay in a corner of the central room. Though he’d just returned not long ago, the Chief Medical Officer was already looking ready to live up to his title, already having successfully repaired Megatron. 

Speaking of Megatron, he had not been seen since he’d awoken from his operation. He’d disappeared somewhere with Ravage; were it a few months ago, Rodimus would have made a comment about that behavior being unbefitting of a captain, but given the circumstances he figured such snark would be inappropriate. 

Slightly apart from the others sat Ten, the colorful artistry covering his frame like a beacon warding off that insidious hopelessness they could all sense lurking around the edges of this reprieve. Minimus - irreducible - stood like a sentry by his side, holding a silent vigil where Censere while had fallen Ten meticulously arranged a memorial of sorts with the sparkflowers that hadn’t been dedicated to the cause of maintaining their defenses. Rodimus marveled at the care with which Ten arranged each and every component of his tribute; those hands, molded with the sole intention of causing destruction under the guise of justice, were capable of creation itself. 

“That’s going to take a little getting used to,” Drift said as he walked up and stood by Rodimus’ side. He nodded in the direction of Minimus. “To think the two of us gave so much trouble to someone so...”

“Small?” Rodimus supplied with a smirk.

“But imposing,” Drift amended. “I can’t help but wonder how you all figured that one out. It must have come as a bit of a surprise, I’m guessing.”

“It was a weird time,” Rodimus said, his voice sounding slightly distant as he recalled the ordeal with Tyrest. “And pretty awful. I’d say I wish you were there with me, but I wouldn’t want you to have to go through what we did, you know?” His arms were folded across his chestplate, and he directed his gaze towards the ground. “We’ve uh, we’ve got a lot of catching up to do. A lot happened while you were gone.”

Drift hummed in agreement. “We’ve got some time. I know it’s not a lot, but, if you wanted to, we could spend it together.” 

“Mind if we go somewhere a little more quiet?” Rodimus asked, glancing in the direction of the corridor branching off from the main atrium. “I’d just, y’know. Like to have a little time just to ourselves. Like we used to.”

Drift took Rodimus’ hand in his own. “You lead, I’ll follow.”

______________________________

They didn’t have any particular destination in mind. The fortress was massive - even more so than it appeared from the outside - and they marveled at the grandiosity of it all as they wandered through the corridors, hands remaining clasped together.

Rodimus didn’t mind, nor did he mention it. Surely Drift would take such a thing as a sign of rejection and break off the contact, and he wasn’t about to risk it.

When they came upon a pair of staircases, Rodimus stopped and point at the one that looked to descend into a gaping maw of darkness below. “That goes to the basement, where those life support pods are.”

“Organics, you said they were?” Drift asked. 

“Yeah. A bunch of them. The Necrobot’s kept busy, I guess.” Rodimus then directed his gaze toward the other staircase, which ascended to the floor above. “I haven’t bothered checking out what’s up there yet. Should be quiet. You game?”

Drift took the first step this time, bringing Rodimus along with him. “Of course.”

“Pft. Trying to one up me? _Please._ You may have a fancy new frame, Drift, but I’m still the one with flames on my chest.”

“As if you’d ever let us forget that,” Drift teased as the two raced up the stairs, making it to the top in stride. 

Drift gave Rodimus’ chevron a playful tweak. “I guess we’re even.”

Rodimus, contrary to Drift’s expectations, didn’t make any petulant retort; as was usual for a competitive spirit such as him. Instead, Rodimus simply let out an impressed whistle as he took in their new surroundings: what appeared to be a sanctum of sorts, Drift thought.

The ceiling was covered in a grand celestial pattern. Hues of blue, green, and purple created a canvass that was freckled with blazing stars, some of which formed constellations, and planets. A large window spanned the length of one of the rounded walls, providing them with a perfect view of the landscape around them, with a bench positioned perfectly for enjoying the sights. Cases full of datapads and tomes surrounded them on all other sides, and Rodimus couldn’t help but wonder how ancient those paper volumes must’ve been; and from what culture, even.

“I’m guessing he used this as a study,” Drift mused, trailing his digits along the spines of a series of books. “It’s beautiful. Perfect place to read, meditate. Anything, really.”

“Even the Necrobot needed a hobby, I guess. Besides, you know, the whole dead people thing.”

“Rodimus,” Drift said, his tone admonishing, “try to have a little respect.”

Rodimus sighed. “Ok, you’re right. I’m sorry. I promise I won’t shake my aft on any more graves.”

“You did _what?”_

“Don’t worry about it. Here,” Rodimus said, tugging Drift in the direction of the bench, “mind if we sit? And just, talk?”

“Of course,” Drift said, faithfully following him.

“It’s nice having you back,” Rodimus said as they seated themselves. “Didn’t really have anyone else like you around.”

“Magnus didn’t fill in for me while I was gone?” Drift asked with a mischievous glint in his optics.

“Primus, no. If anything, he’s gotten even worse since Megatron came on board,” Rodimus groused. “The two of them like to gang up on me all the time, and I didn’t have someone to back me up like you would have.”

Rodimus paused. Then, his voice notably quieter, said, “I mean it, Drift. It’s really great having you back.”

Drift gave Rodimus’ hand a reassuring squeeze. “I’m glad to be back.”

“Even knowing what exactly you’ve come back to?”

“Yes,” Drift said, his expression steeled. “We could very well die here, but at least I’ll be with you and Ratchet and everyone else. It beats dying alone out there, doesn’t it?”

“I guess you have a point there,” Rodimus yielded with a sigh. “But, I just - well, you’ve already been through so much. We all have. And it sucks to think that this might be the end.”

“True,” Drift said, “but I try to think of it this way: despite everything, I finally knew what it was like to have a home. Being on the _Lost Light_ with you was the closest thing I ever had to one. And I wouldn’t trade that experience for anything.”

Rodimus met Drift’s gaze, noting how he could feel the warmth of Drift’s ventilations against his plating. The sudden proximity was unexpected - _when was the last time they’d been this close to each other?_ \- but comforting; an old friend, even. “I could say the same thing. Since - since Nyon, nothing’s really felt like home in the same way. But then you bought the Lost Light, and, well...even if no one else wanted to bother with our quest, I knew I’d at least have you. And losing you, Drift - it was like losing my home all over again.”

“Well, I’m back now,” Drift murmured. “So _Lost Light_ or not, at least we’ve got something, right?”

“Yeah.” Rodimus found his attention wavering, caught somewhere between the warmth in Drift’s optics and how close their frames were. “I, um...”

He started to lean in, his spark flaring when he saw Drift do the same.

“Is this happening?” Rodimus asked, and the slight quiver in his vocals - one known only to Drift - did not go unnoticed, nor did the pleasant warmth of his breath against Drift’s faceplating in a testament to their proximity. “We’re doing this?”

Drift laughed softly, the cadence of it betraying his own nervousness. “I get the feeling. But only if you want to.”

“I do,” Rodimus said, managing a smile that lacked any of his usual bravado. The sincerity of it stoked a flare in Drift’s spark. “I really want to.”

“Me too,” Drift murmured. He cradled Rodimus’ cheek in his hand, reveling in the warmth of it and swearing he could feel the energon - Rodimus’ life itself - thrumming beneath the surface of the plating. 

But such thoughts were fleeting as Drift finally closed the space between them, bringing his lips to meet Rodimus’. 

Rodimus wasn’t quite responsive at first. Instead of immediately reciprocating - and how he yearned to do so, though his processor felt as if it were overloaded by this small taste of sensory stimulation and a frantic refrain of _this is really happening, isn’t it_ \- he took a moment to simply feel. The malleable metal of Drift’s lips components felt soft against his own; imploring, almost, in their gentle movements. The sensation sent a pleasant charge humming along Rodimus’ circuitry, priming his sensors and making them even more receptive to Drift’s touch.

Before long Rodimus managed to find his bearings enough to return the favor. He kissed Drift back, his movements languid in a clear declaration of rebellion against their limited time. Thoughts of what would greet them beyond this moment were easily dismissed as Rodimus let himself focus on feeling, on treasuring the present and the moments from the past that had culminated in it. 

When they pulled away Drift kept his hand in place, allowing his digit to gently trace along Rodimus’ lower lip. “Is this ok?”

“More than ok,” Rodimus eagerly responded, his optics shuttering as he leaned in once more. 

He took the initiative this time, taking the opportunity to familiarize himself with Drift’s lips and how they seemed to move synchronously with his own. He ran his glossa along Drift’s lip much like Drift had done with his own..

“Are you ok with that?” Rodimus asked. His words were accompanied by the gentle whirr of his fans and the slightly unsteady rhythm of his ventilations. “Sorry. I, uh - don’t want to get too carried away and do something you don’t want.”

“Rodimus,” Drift said, taking Rodimus’ hand in his own, “I appreciate you asking. Really. But this is good. We’re good.”

“Yeah?” Rodimus managed a smile of his own. His free hand came to rest on the back of Drift’s neck; tentatively, at first, but he allowed himself to relax into it when Drift gave a contented sigh. “Mind if I...?”

Drift effectively answered Rodimus’ question with another kiss. 

Rodimus had always been slightly warmer than most - truly living up to his name - and Drift had become intimately aware of this fact during their sword training sessions and all the time they’d simply spent next to one another. So while it shouldn’t have come as a surprise, it was a pleasant one to find that Rodimus radiated that same heat now, the dermal metal of his lips pliant and warm against Drift’s own. 

When he felt Rodimus smile, Drift pulled back so he could admire that blissful expression for himself. 

“I can’t believe we’ve never done that before,” Rodimus said, enjoying the pleasant tingle of charge that lingered on his lips. 

“I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it a few times,” Drift admitted. “I tried not to dwell on it too much, though. It always seemed like a weird thing to think about your best friend.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Rodimus buried his face in his hand as a fit of laughter shook him. “I was the same way? I can’t believe we’ve both fantasized about the same thing at some point and always just ignored it.”

“What we had was good. It would’ve been a shame to ruin it because of some impulses.”

“Look, I thought the same thing. But - listen: in hindsight? We could have made things _so much better._ ” 

“True,” Drift agreed with a chuckle. “We’re both idiots.”

“You know what? You’re absolutely right about that,” Rodimus said, suddenly jumping up onto his feet. He held out his hand in offering. “Which is why I think we should stop overthinking things and just do whatever the hell we want now. Consequences be damned.”

Drift accepted Rodimus’ hand and hoisted himself up. “What do you have in mind?”

“Something that I’ve wanted to do since the first time I came to this place but never had the guts to do. Well, and the fact that you weren’t with us that first time.” Still holding Drift’s hand, Rodimus began to tug him along. “But no excuses now! I’m going through with it.”

______________________________

The effigy looked like a hollow shell of the one it intended to represent; almost perturbingly so. Whereas Rodimus always carried himself with a casual air that manifested in his relaxed posture and easygoing stride that he allowed to take him any which way, the Rodimus held up on that pedestal stood with a stoicism that almost commanded respect. Its stance was wide, grounded and assured as if it were an insurmountable force of nature. Once, Drift would have attributed such a quality to the real Rodimus. But bearing witness to those quiet moments of doubt as so few had the privilege of doing made him privy to the truth beneath all that bluster. This Rodimus of Nyon wouldn’t simply put on a front, but would carry and _thrive_ beneath the crushing weight of leadership with confidence and ease.

The imposter elevated before them truly looked the part of a Prime. The real Rodimus studied his likeness as if it were a stranger. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this,” Rodimus murmured as his hand found its way to the inscription beneath his - its - feet. “Any of these. But it’s especially weird, you know? Having to look at yourself. Or, I guess, what’s supposed to be you. Not exactly candid, is it.” Rodimus leaned against the base of the statue, arms folded, one foot cocked, his expression an attempt at his usual cheeky grin that just turned solemn. 

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Drift assured him as he took a step forward. He tried to take care not to trample any of the sparkflowers while doing so; unfortunately, such a feat proved impossible, and he couldn’t help but dwell on the implications. “I prefer the real thing.”

Rodimus blinked, regarding Drift with surprise that was thinly-veiled beneath an attempt at a smile. “You think so? Guess that makes you the minority, then. I’m pretty sure most people would prefer I act more Prime-ly. Considering, well...”

“Hey.” When Rodimus cast his gaze down at the bed of flowers - and how they had the opposite effect of alleviating the strain on his spark - Drift tilted his chin back up. “If we make it through this, we’ll get your ship back. I promise. I mean, think of it this way: after surviving a run-in with the DJD, taking down a few mutineers will be no problem, right?”

Rodimus gave a noncommittal grunt but managed to hold Drift’s gaze. “It’s not just the ship, though. Most of the crew has problems with my leadership. ‘S even worse than that time I held a vote. Getting it back won’t change that. And what’s this about ‘my’ ship? It’s ours, Drift. Always has been.”

“You’re captain,” Drift said, leaning in so that their helms were touching. 

“And you’re the one who gave it to me,” Rodimus fired back. “It’s ours. Which is why we’re going to get it back together.”

“I’m glad I can be here for it.” Drift smiled before pulling back, his optics lingering on Rodimus’ parted lips. “Sorry. Right here isn’t exactly a good place for that.”

“Yeah.” Rodimus sighed, his digits curling against the base of the statue behind him. “Look, Drift - I brought you here because I wanted to show you something. Something that I should’ve told you about a long time ago.” 

Drift once again found himself fixated on the abundance of flowers clustered around Rodimus’ statue, and the way they seemed to stretch on almost endlessly around it. “I’m listening.”

“Thanks. Uh - well, I guess you can kind of see where I’m going,” Rodimus said, spreading his arms and presenting the sea of blue. The flowers almost seemed sentient in a way, brushing against their feet as if in a gesture of greeting. Perhaps the lost sparks recognized Rodimus, in a way, and were offering him the opportunity for reconciliation. Though such a thought seemed improbable, even to Drift. “This - all of this - isn’t just the result of war or, or what we’ve been doing since we left Cybertron. There’s a lot of flowers left unaccounted for. Even after four million years of fighting.” He put on a sheepish smile. “Pretty terrible, isn’t it?”

“Mine is no different from yours,” Drift said, and he knew that checking it to affirm that claim would not be necessary. “You’ve heard about what I did when I was in the Decepticons.”

“I’m not going to judge you for any of that. It was war.”

“So why don’t you extend the same kindness to yourself?” Drift asked, his tone firm yet imploring. “We all did things we’re not proud of, Rodimus. But we’re still here. And we need to do what we can to make up for our mistakes. Not just for Cybertron, but ourselves.” 

“Yeah. But sometimes that’s easier said than done. You understand that.” Rodimus stooped down and ran the petals of one of the flowers through his digits. “When you’re responsible for something like this, it’s not like you can just - let it go, you know? It sticks with you.”

“I know,” Drift said, crouching down so that he was on Rodimus’ level. “And if you don’t want to tell me the details, that’s ok. I appreciate you showing me this at all.”

“No. I’ll tell you. It’s about time I told someone,” Rodimus said as he sat down, leaning against his statue. “Not sure I’d say I’m ‘ready’ but I don’t think I ever will be completely. It’s now or never, though. And - Drift, if I’m going to be honest here, you’re the only person I feel like I can talk about this with.”

Drift sat down beside him, resting his hand over the one Rodimus had splayed on the ground. “You don’t have to force yourself. I know it’s tempting to get all these things off your chest before you die, but there’s still a chance we’ll live. You don’t want to regret anything you did in the heat of the moment, right?”

Rodimus worried his bottom lip with his denta and tilted his head back so that his optics were fixed on the brilliant interplay of orange and pink above them. “I won’t regret it. I want to tell you, Drift. Even if it’s difficult.” He turned towards Drift. “I trust you. More than anyone.”

“Thank you,” Drift said, his voice just above a whisper. It fit the ethereal atmosphere that the scene was shrouded in. “I know we’ve had our problems, Rodimus, but you’re still one of people I trust the most. So the same goes to you.”

“I thought I might’ve screwed things up for good,” Rodimus admitted with a breath of laughter. “I’m glad I didn’t lose you. And I promise, Drift, that I’m going to make everything up to you. I hope that this is a start.”

He paused, taking a moment to listen to Drift’s gentle ventilations and feel the weight of Drift’s hand over his own. It felt comfortable - familiar, even, and he briefly thought of the contact they’d so often shared during their sword training sessions.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever told you this,” he began, “but Starscream actually tried to recruit me to the Decepticons once.”

“I’m sure that went well for him,” Drift said with a chuckle. “I can’t see you as being overly fond of him. Not many people are, mind you.”

“No kidding. But it was actually Megatron who made me decide against it. We’ve, uh...never exactly gotten along.”

“No one will blame you for that. In case you haven’t noticed, he’s not exactly the most beloved Cybertronian,” Drift supplied. “But it makes you think, doesn’t it? About how different things could’ve been in you had joined up. We may have even worked together at some point.”

“Deadlock and Hot Rod,” Rodimus mused. “That would’ve been something. But the whole reason they wanted me wasn’t exactly something I’m proud of. Not that that needs to be said, probably. I’ve never really wanted to be Decepticon material. No offense.” 

“We’re different people,” Drift said. “We came from different places. Had different experiences. It makes sense that we’d choose different paths.”

Rodimus half-smiled. “And here we both are. Weird how it all worked out anyways.”

“Maybe we were destined to meet,” Drift said.

“Drift, you know that when you say something like that I have to take you seriously.”

“What makes you say that?” Drift asked, barely containing a laugh that came out as more of a stuttered ventilation. 

_“Because,”_ Rodimus said, giving Drift’s shoulder a nudge with his own, “you’re always saying those - y’know, spiritual things. And I know you really do believe them.”

“Maybe I was joking this time,” Drift said with a teasing prod of his own. “Mostly. I wouldn’t doubt it if it were true. Considering, well...”

“Your vision. The one you had about me.”

“Yeah. But - sorry, I didn’t mean to get us distracted. I’m listening, Rodimus. Whatever it is you need to say.”

Rodimus allowed his helm to rest against Drift’s shoulder as his gaze fixed on the flowers beneath them. A slight breeze would rustle them every so often, but those intermittent moments were eerily still. “Thank you. Uhm, where was I? Oh, yeah. Decepticons. The whole reason I caught Starscream’s attention was because of what happened in Nyon.”

“Nyon,” Drift repeated. “I heard it fell when Zeta Prime attacked. That was early in the war, wasn’t it? At least, before things really escalated.”

“Yeah. Optimus was still Orion Pax. I was just some no-name punk running around the streets of Nyon. With some explosives,” Rodimus added with a smile that Drift would describe as nostalgic. “‘Insurgents,’ we were called. Obviously, Zeta wasn’t a fan. He’d been bleeding our city dry for - what, years? Just waiting for the opportunity to get rid of us.”

Drift nodded. “Doesn’t sound too different from the Dead End. Maybe we didn’t really come from that different of a place.”

“In some ways I guess it wasn’t,” Rodimus said. “But starving us wasn’t enough. Zeta didn’t just want us dead. He wanted to _use_ us. Literally, even. Not just to make an example of us. He used his - his Omega Destructors, is what he called them. And he didn’t just stop at trying to destroy Nyon.” Rodimus’ ventilations stuttered, and he had to reboot his vocalizer when his words became laden with static. “He was draining people, Drift. Using them to power his weapons. He was planning on using us to kill others across Cybertron.”

“I’m sorry,” Drift said as he wrapped an arm around Rodimus, pulling him snug against his side. “Watching that happen to your home, your friends...I can’t imagine how difficult it must’ve been. Cybertron falling was hard for everyone, but where you’d spent your entire life?” He lapsed into a thoughtful silence for a moment, then said, “It must’ve been a lot more personal.”

“It was,” Rodimus agreed with a sigh. “But that wasn’t even the worst part of it, Drift. Zeta wasn’t the one who actually destroyed Nyon. He tried to - Primus, he tried to - but he wasn’t the one who brought it to ruin.” Rodimus’ thumb twitched, mimicking the motion of pressing a button. “We, uh. We had a - a contingency plan, we called it. Something that we’d set up in case things got bad. Really bad. We were used to hardship, you know? But this...it was something else. And I had to make the call.”

Rodimus looked up, meeting Drift’s optics. “I set off the explosives we’d set up around the city. Everything - everyone - was gone in just moments, Drift. By my hand. _I_ made the choice. _I_ pressed the switch. _I_ was responsible for the deaths of everyone in Nyon. All of this, here,” he said, gesturing to the flowers around them once more, “is because of that. These lives were all lost because of me and my decision.”

Drift didn’t immediately respond. He allowed Rodimus’ ventilations to become less ragged, for the harsh fluctuations in his field to be reigned in, for those minute tremors running through is frame to cease, until it seemed as if Rodimus had had a chance to let his frustrations run their course, to grieve and mourn after millennia of burying the incident beneath a brave front.

Then, Drift said, “I know you feel guilty. And it sounds like that guilt has been eating away at you since it happened. But Rodimus, you have to understand that in that situation, you did the best that you could. The outcome wasn’t ideal, and it’s something you’ll have to continue to cope with. But compared to what would’ve happened? Rodimus, you didn’t just save the lives of the millions who Zeta would have killed after that. You ensured that the people of Nyon wouldn’t be used - that their memories wouldn’t be desecrated. It may not ever feel like it, Rodimus, but you did the right thing.”

Rodimus leaned his helm against Drift’s chestplate, listening to the soothing whirr of Drift’s spark. “I know that. I do. But it doesn’t make living with it any easier. I can still remember what the detonator felt like in my hand.”

“Healing takes time,” Drift said, laying his hand on Rodimus’ helm. “And these last four million years haven’t allowed us to have much of an opportunity for that. So don’t beat yourself up over it, ok?”

“Ok.” Rodimus closed his optics and focused on the way Drift’s touch sent a pleasant charge along his sensornet. “Thank you. For listening, I mean. It’s, um. It’s not an easy thing for me to talk about. I can’t even remember the last time I talked about it with someone who wasn’t there.”

Drift placed a kiss on Rodimus’ chevron. “Thank you for telling me. It means a lot to me that’d you trust me with this.”

“Well, you’re important to me,” Rodimus admitted as he snuggled in closer to Drift. “More than anyone else. And I know I’ve been pretty lousy at showing it, but I mean it. Swear to Primus, and all that.”

“I wasn’t sure if you felt that way,” Drift said. “Things were rough, Rodimus. When you didn’t come looking for me. I had a lot of doubts about whether or not we’d be able to go back to what we had. But we _can_ fix this. Us, I mean. And doing this, and what you said back there - well, I believe you now.” 

“I messed up,” Rodimus murmured. “And you have every right to be mad. But thank you. For giving me a chance.”

Drift smiled as a sense of stability started to return to Rodimus’ field. “Of course.”

They fell into a momentary silence until Rodimus asked, “How do you deal with it? When things get, well, tough? I mean - when everything just sort of catches up with you, all at once? You get what I mean, right?”

“I do,” Drift answered, and he hummed thoughtfully as he considered Rodimus’ question. “There’s not really an easy answer to that, which I’m sure goes without saying. Everyone has their own ways of coping. But I’ve found that - for me, at least - Spectralism can offer a lot of comfort. Big surprise, I know,” he said with a knowing smile. “For me, it’s something I can always turn to. For guidance, or anything else.”

“Spectralism,” Rodimus repeated, looking as if the word had inspired some sort of recollection. “Do you think you could teach me? What you do, or whatever words of wisdom Spectralism has.”

“Of course. I would love to, really. I’m just a little surprised. You never seemed all that interested in it.”

“I know,” Rodimus said as he scratched his cheek, suddenly averting his gaze. “I didn’t really think it had any place in my life, I guess? It was nice that it did so much for you but I just sort of thought of it as ‘Drift’s thing.’ Even when you tried to convert me I - well, to be honest, I guess I didn’t take it all that seriously. Wasn’t really something that I could picture for myself. But hey, even someone like me will listen when the going gets tough, you know?” 

Drift placed a hand on Rodimus’ shoulder, noticing the way Rodimus’ spoiler gave a flick as he did so. “You’re not the only one. We all find ourselves being in a little more openminded to these things in times of crisis. And I’d be happy to teach you, Rodimus.”

“Thank you. And, look, Drift...I’m sorry I didn’t really take you all that seriously before. I know you just wanted to help me.”

“It’s ok, Rodimus. I know that you _did_ listen, even if you may not have realized it. It means a lot to me that you did. A lot of people just get annoyed or, make fun of my beliefs. So believe me, you don’t need to beat yourself up over it.”

Rodimus allowed himself a moment to enjoy the warmth and sense of calm that resonated throughout Drift’s field field, then said, “Oh! Speaking of all this, there’s something that I wanted to give you. It’s relevant, I promise. And I know what I’m about to tell you is going to sound like absolute bull but just, hear me out? You missed a lot of crazy stuff while you were gone, I can tell you that. This is just one of them.” 

He pulled out what appeared to be an artifact of sorts and held it out for Drift to examine. A brilliant azure jewel was encased in the center. Branching off from it were five prongs that accommodated Rodimus’ grip perfectly, as if it were intended to be held up on display. Recognition flickered in Drift’s optics, and when he reached forward Rodimus relinquished it to him.

“My emblem,” Drift said. He caressed the jewel with a digit, his expression thoughtful. “That’s right. I didn’t really have a chance to bring much with me when I left. This would’ve been left behind.” He looked up at Rodimus with a glimmer in his optics. “You carry it around with you?”

“Yeah,” Rodimus said, rubbing the back of his helm. “But it’s...not yours? I mean, it is yours, but not _yours_ yours. It um. Well, bear with me for a minute, ok? You - and by this I mean a different you, but still you, yeah? You held a funeral for me. A Spectralist one, apparently. And when we found the coffin with my body in it, this was in there with it. I thought it would’ve disappeared along with everything else, you know? But it didn’t, and I guess neither did Rewind, so when you think about it it must not’ve been a perfect erasure of that other _Lost Light.”_

Drift blinked. “You’ve lost me.”

Rodimus managed a laugh, as if the bizarre nature of the situation were finally fully sinking in. “This is what I meant. Things got, well they got kind of weird. Really weird. And I guess to put it simply - if that’s even possible - an ‘alternate’ _Lost Light_ was created when we quantum jumped that first time. Like, a perfect copy, full of perfect copies of each of us. Things went wrong somewhere along the line and...I, died. I know this because _our Lost Light_ found the coffin with my body in it. And lo and behold,” Rodimus said as he gave the emblem a tap, “this was in there with me.”

Drift’s expression remained muddled with confusion.

“...It’s a bit of a long story. One that I’ll definitely explain to you in full if we survive this. But Rewind - yeah, you probably saw him and were confused about that, I bet. Well the Rewind with us is the one from _that Lost Light._ And so he was there for everything that happened. He told me that you held a Spectralist funeral for me, and I guess this must’ve been part of it.” 

“It is,” Drift said, still sounding dubious but his gaze softened into one of quiet acceptance. “I - or, the _other_ Drift. That’s weird to say, isn’t it? Well, he would’ve been holding this during the funeral as he said a prayer to grant you - the other you, I mean - safe passage from this world to the next. I - _Drift_ was probably wearing the traditional ceremonial garb during it.” Drift gave the emblem a squeeze, as if he were expecting it to dissipate at any moment. “Normally I would have held on to it. I guess the other Drift must’ve wanted to give your soul that extra bit of protection on your journey,” he added with a smile that seemed almost melancholic. “Sorry. It’s um, a little weird to think that you died and to be talking about you like this. Nevermind that there was another me involved.”

“Tell me about it,” Rodimus said with a huff of laughter. “You have no idea how traumatizing it is to find your own dead body. Oh, yeah, I forgot to mention: the other you sent my coffin off into space. We stumbled across it and that’s when things started to get really fragged up. Not supposed to meet your double, and all that. But uh, that’s pretty much it. How I found this. The short version, at least. 

“And well...I know it’s not the most exciting gift, considering you have one exactly like it, but it just - it’s something that I’ve kept on me ever since, and it was kind of nice, you know? It was almost like I had you with me, in a weird way. Made me feel safer, which I guess was the point. Hey, it did its job. And I know I’m rambling right now, but I just want to return the favor. I just got you back and I’m not losing you again, so. Please. Take it. Keep it with you. Even if it seems weird for me of all people to be banking on good luck charms.”

Drift held the emblem close to his chest, and he could’ve sworn he felt a positive energy of sorts emanate from it, as if it carried part of Rodimus’ essence. The little pulse that seemed to fire from the jewel straight through to his spark was like a solar flare, something so strikingly Rodimus-like that he couldn’t help but feel as if the artifact truly did hold some of the young Prime’s energy. 

He would surely need such a thing beside him in the coming battle.

“Thank you, Rodimus,” Drift murmured as he pulled Rodimus in for an embrace. “You may not think that it’s amazing, but it’s incredibly thoughtful. I’ll keep it safe.”

“Weren’t you listening? It’s supposed to keep _you_ safe,” Rodimus grumbled into Drift’s shoulder, but Drift could hear the smile underlying his words. “But, also,” he continued, pulling back so that he could look at Drift, “ever since then I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. About - well, all those times you tried to convert me. And I know that it’s sort of a last minute thing and it’s probably not what you were looking for but, um.” Rodimus paused to reboot his vocalizer. “I was wondering if - I could still do it? Become a Spectralist, I mean. And I was thinking, you know, teaching me those whole guidance things could be a place to start.”

Drift practically beamed, and it struck Rodimus how he’d failed to value such a rarity in the past. “You don’t have to ask me twice. I’d love to share Spectralism with you, Rodimus.”

“Never thought I’d see the day where we’d be doing religious things together,” Rodimus said with a chuckle. 

“Miracles _do_ happen,” Drift quipped. “See? There’s your proof of Primus.”

Rodimus grinned in that manner of his that always left Drift feeling elated long after they’d parted ways. “Tell that one to Ratchet.”

“He’s stubborn. Getting him of all people to listen would be truly miraculous. But this isn’t about him. We’re doing this for you.” Drift shifted out of Rodimus’ grasp, giving himself ample room to assume his desired position. “And speaking of which, I think this first lesson in Spectralism might not be your favorite, but it’s an important one.”

“Oh boy. Had to start with something tough, didn’t you?” Nonetheless Rodimus did his best to emulate Drift’s position: knees flats, hands resting with palms upwards, back straight and tall. It felt uncomfortable - unnatural, even - and he already found himself twitching restlessly. “Yikes. Ok, you’re probably right. This is already giving me red flags.”

“Meditation,” Drift explained with a knowing smile, “isn’t a practice exclusive to Spectralism, but it is a method commonly used by Spectralists to get into touch with your aura, and it’s a way to enhance your mental and spiritual wellbeing. Some Spectralists meditate for hours each day, but we’ll start a little simpler than that. I think you’ll find that even in a few minutes of meditation can allow you to better understand your state of mind as well as cope with any challenges life may be throwing at you.” 

“Sitting still and shutting up. Yeah, not exactly my strengths. You’re going to have your hands full with this one, Drift. I hope you know that.”

“I’ll guide you through it,” Drift assured him. “And if you survive this, I’ll even teach you some Spectralist mantras that have gotten me through times of doubt. Deal?”

Rodimus hummed theatrically as if deeply considering the proposal, and upon managing to get a laugh out of Drift, he said, “Deal.”

______________________________

Somewhere along the line their session in meditation had devolved into another quiet moment of simply leaning against each other beneath the watchful shadow of Rodimus’ effigy. Rodimus allowed his optics a moment of rest as he huddled up against Drift’s side, their ventilations having fallen in synch at some point.

They didn’t dwell on the darkening of the sky or what it signified, choosing instead to revel in the presence of the other.

“May I show you something?” Drift suddenly asked, his entreaty a murmur in Rodimus’ audial. “You’ve done so much for me today and...” A pause, then, with much more conviction, “I want to reciprocate.”

Rodimus swore his spark nearly stilled in that moment before it resumed an arrhythmic pulse in its casing. “You’re sure? Drift, I know I’ve put a lot on you today - and you don’t have to force yourself to do anything.” His palm was resting above Drift’s own spark, and Rodimus wondered if perhaps Drift’s spark was mirroring the tumultuous pattern of his own. “I didn’t do any of this expecting something in return.”

“I want to,” Drift declared, and he held Rodimus’ hand there, right up against his spark, willing Rodimus to pick up on the intensity with which it flared. “Trust me?”

Rodimus bit his lower lip, uncertainty evident in his optics, but said, “Of course I do. I trust you.”

“Thank you.” Drift cycled his vents, taking a moment to steady himself, before he rearranged himself so that they were facing each other. “I want you to know I’ve only done this once before. And it wasn’t like this. Not at all.”

That cryptic prelude did little to mitigate neither the concern nor the anticipation in Rodimus’ expression. “Ok. But really, Drift, you don’t have to push yourself. If this isn’t something you’re really comfortable doing-”

“It’s ok,” Drift interjected. “It is. It’s - well, if I’m to be honest with you, it’s not something I can really picture being _comfortable._ At least not anytime in the near future. And, to tell you the truth, it’s a little frightening. But believe me, I’m willing to take that sort of risk with you. You just need to understand that I mean it when I say that.”

Before Rodimus could have another opportunity to object - and bless his spark, Drift thought, for his concern, overbearing as it may seem - Drift offlined his optics and let out a deep exvent of air, much as Rodimus had watched Drift do when he was preparing to begin their meditation session. Then, he asked, “May I show you my spark?”

Rodimus nearly blurted out his answer instantaneously - _yes, of course, do you know how much I’ve wanted to...?_ \- but managed to collect himself and say, “Yes. I’d be honored, Drift. Really. And, um. If it makes you feel any better, I’ve never done it either. Showed it to anyone, I mean.” 

He quieted himself after that. This was Drift’s moment. Rodimus would allow him to say his piece before he added any more of his own.

Without further preamble, Drift triggered the command to open up his chestplating. It split down the middle at a seam not visible to the naked eye, the two plates parting to either side to reveal the casing of Drift’s spark. Light was already leaking out from within, and the sight made Rodimus feel a tug at his own spark. The cover of Drift’s casing then spiraled open, baring Drift’s spark in all its glory. It was a brilliant blue, one that caused Rodimus to flinch in its brightness before he adjusted his optics, and crackled with an electrifying energy as it spun within its casing.

He’d never been the most eloquent of individuals, nor did he claim to have the same mastery of words that Drift seemed to, and right then Rodimus couldn’t conjure up anything other than _incredible_ to describe it. It was almost ethereal in its beauty. Rodimus longed to touch - or, better yet, to allow his own spark to come into contact with it, to let those tendrils of light reach out and grasp that which they yearned for - but feared that doing so would take them out of the moment.

So he resisted.

“I’ve told you about what happens when you join the Decepticons,” Drift said. His optics remained offline as if he didn’t want to face Rodimus’ reaction - a fear of rejection, Rodimus figured, as if he would ever be capable of doing such a thing - but surely he could gauge the awestruck fluctuations in Rodimus’ field nonetheless. “Our badges are more than just a way of signifying our faction. They’re an expression of loyalty to the cause. A statement of your intent to live and die by it. That’s why our badges are made out of a piece of our sparkcasing.” Drift gently tapped the outermost layer of the casing. Sure enough, it appeared that a portion of it was missing, making Drift’s spark seem oddly vulnerable. 

“I can’t imagine what that must have been like,” Rodimus murmured as he remained entranced by the light of Drift’s spark. “Bearing this in front of someone like Megatron. You really believed in what the Decepticons fought for, didn’t you?”

Drift nodded. “But that was then, and this is now. And right now I’m showing you this because - well, I trust you, Rodimus. Despite our problems. And I want to devote myself to you. All of me. Even if that’s just until the sun sets. Would you be willing to accept my offer?”

“Do you really need to ask?” Rodimus replied, still transfixed. His amazement must’ve been evident in his vocals, judging by Drift’s slight smile. “You were there by me on day one. Of course I want to finish this with you, whenever that may be. I don’t care if that’s today or millennia from now. My answer is the same.”

He leaned in, pressing his forehelm against Drift’s. “Look at me?”

After a moment of hesitation Drift rebooted his optics, and Rodimus knew that they reflected the glow that was in his own.

“Is it ok if I touch?”

“Sure,” Drift said, but Rodimus caught a glimpse of the worry that flitted across Drift’s face. 

“Only if you’re really ok with it,” Rodimus insisted, and instead of reaching for Drift’s spark he brought a hand up to cradle Drift’s cheek. “You don’t have to say yes if you’re not comfortable with this. Be honest with me, Drift.”

“I do want you to. It’s just...new. New things are always a little intimidating,” Drift said with a sheepish smile. “But I want to try with you.”

“I’ll be careful,” Rodimus reassured him. “I promise.”

With his free hand he reached down slowly, allowing his digits to trail along Drift’s chassis. He maintained optic-contact the entire time, waiting for the slightest flicker of hesitance in Drift’s expression. Then, he gave Drift’s spark a tentative first touch, feeling a pleasant tingle of electricity zing along his sensornet at the contact. Drift’s optics brightened for a moment, and his lips parted to let out a ventilation; but he nodded, urging Rodimus to continue.

So Rodimus did. He traced along the outer corona, listening to the slight stutter in Drift’s breath as he did so.

“Feel ok?”

“Yeah. It’s...hard to describe.”

“Not bad though, right? If it is, I can stop.”

“Keep going,” Drift urged him. 

Rodimus continued to brush his digits along that other rim of it, not continuing onwards until Drift stopped biting his lip and relaxed. Only when Drift seemed to have adjusted to his touch did Rodimus then allow himself to touch the inner corona, and there was something intoxicating about the charge from Drift’s spark that welcomed him. It crackled towards him almost as if in greeting, granting him with a sensation unlike any other. 

Drift felt much the same, if Rodimus was reading his expression right. His optics had offlined once more, and his lips were in what looked like the precursor to a blissful smile. As Rodimus continued to caress, allowing his digit to explore the incredibly reactive surface, Drift huffed a gentle laugh. 

“I can’t really describe it,” he murmured, his voice breathy. “But I’ve never felt anything like it, for sure.”

“We’ll have to switch places next time,” Rodimus said as he committed the feeling of Drift’s spark to memory. 

Drift smiled, and the swell of his spark was visible. “I’d like that.” 

Rodimus indulged for another few moments until a contented sigh from Drift brought him out of his reverie. “Thank you. Not just for this, but for showing me. I know that’s not an easy thing to do.” 

He chose not to comment on the faint scar of sorts that was visible down the length of Drift’s spark; a thin, iridescent fissure as a mark of where Drift’s Great Sword had pierced him by his own hand. 

Despite the presence of what many would perhaps perceive as an imperfection, Rodimus thought all of Drift’s spark was worthy of love.

“Thank you for letting me,” Drift responded as he slowly - reluctantly, even - closed his casing and chestplates. Rodimus’ hand lingered on his Autobot insignia in a last farewell. “If we had more time, we could do a merge.”

“Yeah.” Rodimus glanced up at the sky, feeling a sense of dread stir at the encroaching darkness. “Not long left to go. We should probably start heading back.”

“We should,” Drift agreed, though neither of them made any attempt to leave. They simply sat, helms pressed together, listening to one another’s ventilations and basking in the warmth of each other’s fields.

“...Drift?”

“Yes?”

“I. I think we just became conjunx endura.”

Drift started to tremble then, and it wasn’t until Rodimus pulled back that he realized it was with laughter.

“I guess we did,” Drift said. “I can’t believe we did the whole ritus without even meaning to.”

Rodimus grinned. “I can. Have you seen us? We’re kind of a mess. A real hot mess. And I love that about us.”

“Me too,” Drift agreed, pulling Rodimus in for one last embrace. “I wouldn’t change us for the world.”


End file.
